Down and Dirty in Iowa
by snorting chords
Summary: Did you hear about time Uhura walked into the bar and got hit on by the Vulcan? Academy AU fic in which Spock is the farm-boy who tries to seduce the woman with the talented tongue. Chapter two: the Doctor is in and may throw up on Spock.
1. a linguist walks into a bar

**Disclaimer: **Does anyone even believe I own this? Seriously you guys. You guys seriously.

**A/N: **Inspired/based on a prompt on the LJ kink meme in which Spock is the motorcycle-riding repeat-offender genius with the hots for Uhura, and Kirk is her instructor. So basically this is an AU fic about what would happen if it was Spock who met Uhura in the bar. I _may_ continue this but I'm still undecided. (Although Spock and McCoy as roomies? Smart!Kirk seducing Assistant!Uhura? Hell yeah!) For now, enjoy this for what it is. A little re-imagining if you will. BTW, go and look at the pictures of Zachary Quinto on the motorbike, and you'll get the idea.

* * *

The only thing Uhura wants as she walks into the bar is a stiff drink, and one last night of freedom before she's chained to the Academy for another three years. It's not that she hasn't enjoyed this little recruitment drive Pike arranged; the bare bones of the Enterprise – _her_ ship – stand in the shipyard a mile away. Seeing them in person, the shell that will soon be the flagship of Starfleet, has only convinced her that her first assessment was correct: this is where she is supposed to be. She doesn't even mind the constant barrage of questions she's been subjected to, all kinds of people querying her on just _what_ xeno-linguistics entails. But after eight days of this, eight days of trekking around the country, she's more than happy to be returning to San Francisco.

Fate, it seems, has other plans.

"That is a lot of drinks for one woman."

Uhura doesn't even look up at the man who speaks. She's tired, dusty and more than willing to kick some serious ass. So getting hit on by farm boys is not her idea of a good night. It takes most of her willpower not to indulge the urge to laugh; what kind of opening line was that? Insulting her ability to handle her drink? Please.

She leans further across the bar, catching the eye of the bartender. "And a shot of Jack, straight up."

Farm-boy doesn't get the hint and chimes in, "make that two, her shot is on me." With a roll of her eyes she finally turns to face him and finds herself practically face to face with a Vulcan. A Vulcan. Here. In Iowa. In a _bar_. If she wasn't absolutely sure she was awake, Uhura would have believed she was dreaming. But no, she's not. She can see the pointed tops of his ears, notes the way he raises a curious brow at her reaction. He looks, for all intents and purposes, like the perfect Vulcan. The only thing giving him away is the messy hair and bright smirk he's throwing at her.

"Her shots on her." she manages to choke out through her surprise, fixing the bar tender with a stern look to make sure he gets it right. "Thanks but no thanks." Vulcan or not, she's not in the mood for cheap lines and even cheaper drinks. As fascinating (and she's really, _really_ fascinated) as she finds him, clearly he assumes she's an easy thing. He's looking at her with a kind of feral looking grin now, like a hunter does its prey, the tip of his tongue coming out to wet his lips.

_Think again buddy,_ she thinks to herself, straightening up. _This is not your lucky night._ If he is a Vulcan and he's this far out, _smiling_ at her, clearly he's on some kind of mental trip and she's not really interested in that kind of emotional baggage right now. She has enough of that back at the Academy, thank you very much.

And assumptions really, _really_ piss her off.

But Vulcan farm-boy is not getting the hint any time soon, and within seconds he's positioned himself between her and the alien previously blocking them. Now it's her turn to raise an eyebrow as she tilts her body away from him, snatching her hand away from his lingering fingers. Now _that_ was interesting. Uhura knows almost everything there is to know about Vulcans, she soaks up the knowledge from books like a dying man in the desert, and she knows for a fact that they rarely initiate skin to skin contact with species that have no telepathic control. Yet here this one is, about to reach for her hand like an amorous Frenchman. Still, his earlier assumption has ruffled her proverbial feathers because the thing she hates the most is men thinking she is easy, like she doesn't have a brain just because she has a nice pair of legs. So she swallows down any curiosity about this smiling Vulcan and turns away.

"Do you not even wish to know my name before you reject me?" His voice is awfully close to her ear, and Uhura risks the smallest tilt of her head to see that yes, her estimations are correct and he's back in her personal space.

"I'm fine without it."

"You _are_ fine without it. But it is Spock." There's a long pause which she assumes is a cue for her to give up her name, but she's not biting so he continues, heaving a dramatic sigh. "You know, if you do not tell me your name I will have to assign you one." He leans back in, voice hot and heavy against her ear. His smirk sends and involuntary shiver down her spine and she fights to remind herself that this is not a typical Vulcan, and remind her traitorous body to cut it out. "And I have many _fascinating_ names for you."

She's know even sure why – maybe it's the smooth baritone of his voice, his succinct way of pronouncing every syllable and sounding undeniably Vulcan despite the emotional inflection in his voice. She's never met one that seems so open about their emotions, they're all usually so repressed. But this one – Spock – is a delicious mix of both Human and Vulcan, and her intellectual mind is desperately fighting with her pride on this one. So she gives her name.

"It's Uhura."

"Uhura." The way he says it, all low and seductive against her ear, sends another one of those annoying shivers all the way through her. "Taken from the Swahili word _uhuru_, meaning freedom." A finger comes up and he brushes back a strand of hair that's fallen out of place and in front of her eyes, tucking it behind her ear. "How... fitting. Uhura..."

"Just Uhura."

"Do they not have last names in your world?"

"Uhura is my last name." She shifts awkwardly away from him, as far as she can in this cramped bar and thinks why the hell is this happening to her? What are the odds she would be getting seduced in a bar by a goddamn Vulcan? _No,_ she thinks to herself, _not seduced, just attempted seduction._

"I assume they have first names in the United States of Africa."

Okay, that is just plain creepy. She glances down at her hand where he touched it minutes ago, wondering if he gleamed that from the brief touch. His eyes – those dark _human_ eyes – follow her down, and he once again shoots her a smirk. She's not sure if it's unnerving or hot as hell, but she knows he won't get the pleasure of finding out.

When she says nothing else, simply waits for her drink order, he continues. "So you are a Cadet, studying at the Academy. What is your focus?"

The bar tender lays out her shot on the counter which Uhura eagerly throws back, reaching next for the slusho mix. "Xeno-linguistics." she says after a moment, eyeing him carefully. Now it's her turn to smirk, as she switches from the Standard they have been conversing in to the lower eastern dialect of Romulan. She knows for a fact she's one of only ten people who speak it in the Academy, so she knows this Vulcan farm-boy won't have a clue what she says. "Clearly _you_ have no idea what that entails."

She almost drops out of her seat when he replies with a perfect pronunciation of the same language.

"The study of alien language; morphology, phonology, syntax." That wet tongue comes out once more and he runs it across his bottom lip, knowing that her eyes are watching every second of it. "It means you have a talented tongue."

Her eyebrow raises once more, and she wonders when she turned into the Vulcan. "I'm impressed. For a moment there I thought you were just an uptight Vulcan with a stick up your ass."

"I assure you, _Uhura_," and the way he says her name is so deliciously smooth that she almost leans closer, her body acting out against her better judgement. "I have never had anything up my ass. Yet."

The image of a Vulcan saying _that_ is too much, and Uhura gives in to her desire to laugh. This seems to please him, for his smile grows even wider and it's as charming as it is creepy. It occurs to her that this is dangerous territory, that she's not exactly rebuffing his advances like she meant to, so she turns back around to the bar to pay for her drinks. All she wants to do is go back to her friends and not get hit on by half drunk locals. Even if they were Vulcan and gorgeous. She risks a sideways look at him. Yes, still gorgeous in his leather jacket, all tall, dark and delectably radiating 'I'm a very bad boy who needs to be punished'.

One of the guys from her group comes up beside her, laying a protective hand on her shoulder. "This townie bothering you?" Clearly he's not looking hard enough and doesn't notice the pointed tips of Spock's ears beneath his mussed hair, or he might think twice about stepping in to protect her. Not that she needs it.

She rolls her eyes and shrugs off his hand. "Oh beyond belief, but it's nothing I can't handle."

"You could handle me. That's an invitation." He's speaking Vulcan to her now, and that just pisses the guys off even more.

"Hey. Hob-goblin." Oh, so he noticed the ears. "In case you haven't noticed, there's four of us and one of you." Uhura looks up and sees it's true; four men are all lined up to protect her honor. It might be touching if she didn't feel pissed off at their assumption she couldn't handle one guy by herself. Alright, he's a Vulcan, but they had no idea when they decided to stroll in and act like heroes. For all they knew, he could have been a regular joe and they think that _she_ can't handle it?

"Guys. Stop." she says, just as Spock tells them to go and get four more so he'll have an even fight. She heaves another exasperated sigh. So much for her quiet night of relaxation. "Seriously."

They don't listen to her of course, so she ends up losing most of her drinks and the Vulcan ends up copping a feel before Captain Pike breaks it up and ushers them out of the bar.

Shooting Spock a disapproving look as she passes the table he's currently sprawled out on, Uhura almost jumps out of her skin when she feels him grab her hand. For a moment she falters, coming to a stand still by his side. His fingers slide softly over her knuckles, his thumb pressing soft circles into her palm. She presses her lips together, unable to trust herself to do anything else.

"It was a pleasure, Uhura." he murmurs quietly in a lesser spoken dialect of Vulcan, one that is so natural on his lips that she guesses it's where he's originally from.

Maybe it's the combination of the shot of Jack (even though she's no lightweight) and the exhilaration from the bar fight. Or maybe he's doing some crazy voodoo on her hand. But as she withdraws her hand, she leans down and whispers, "it's Nyota" into his ear before she departs.

When she looks up in the shuttle the next morning and sees a pair of chocolate eyes staring back at her, she thinks it's going to be a _very_ interesting three years.


	2. this will be fascinating

**Disclaimer: **Does anyone even believe I own this? Seriously you guys. You guys seriously.

**A/N: **ASK AND YE SHALL RECEIVE. Continuing on this little AU diversion in which Spock is the repeat offender with (even more) daddy issues and Kirk is the instructor. I'm not sure how this is going to work, but I just really wanted McCoy and Spock to meet. Although my way of reasoning is: in the movie, Spock is struggling to accept his human side. So in this story, he's struggling to accept his Vulcan side. either way he's got to find a way to unite the two pieces. I'm not sure how well it's going to translate, but what the hell? You know you all want to read about the adventures of Spock and McCoy, Starfleet Academy roomies extraordinare! So suspend your disbelief and embrace bad boy Spock. McCoy remains unchanged, he's still a moody old bastard. Uhura remains fierce and unseduced by farm-boys - Vulcan or not.

And for you all worrying, this will NOT turn into a Kirk/Uhura story, although they will make a badass nerd team.

**Warning: **I fail at science, so any Spock-like super genius smarts in this may be wrong. I grovel for forgiveness.

* * *

If Spock believed in fate (which he absolutely does not, there is no logic in believing something is destined to happen – it's just scientifically impossible) he would have said that it hates him. The minute he meets a semi-interesting woman, and he ends up sprawled out on a table. Said woman isn't on top of him, at least not that he can feel. His eyesight is a little trickier as he hadn't been fully prepared for that last punch. He should have nerve pinched all the bastards really, but he had been trying to impress Uhura by settling it the old fashioned way. Unfortunately this didn't have the desired effect.

_Nyota_, he mentally corrects himself. Nyota Uhura which, if his Kiswahili is up to scratch, roughly translates as free star. As he watches her sashay from the bar (for the way she walks can only be described as that, and Spock doesn't even _use_ colorful prose) he finds this description particularly apt. He imagines that he will forever associate the coppery taste of blood in his mouth with her, with the stars she's named after. But he doesn't have any more time to dwell on her, as a pair of rough hands are yanking his shirt to draw him up.

And that is how he ends up sat across from Captain Christopher Pike.

"You know, I couldn't believe it when I realized just who the hell my Cadets were taking a slice out of."

Perhaps on any other day, Spock may have had the patience to deal with this man. But his 'Cadets', as Pike so affectionately calls them, have managed to rob him of what little restraint he has left tonight. Not only is he sore and entirely sober, but the cunning linguist he had hoped would serve as entertainment for the night is gone.

"And who am I, Captain Pike?" he questions, though he already knows the answer. Everyone knows the answer. The half-breed. The Vulcan. The son of the brave Ambassador. He's heard all these titles and he wants none of them. Picking up the glass of whiskey – another taste he is beginning to mentally associate with Nyota – he throws it back, waiting for the inevitable.

"A complete mess."

He resists the urge to roll his eyes and holds up his glass. Alcohol has no effect on him of course, but he enjoys drinking it all the same, relishes the hot burn it provides. "May I have another?" he asks the bar tender who is cleaning debris around them. Obviously not if that glare is anything to go by. Instead he places the glass back on the table with a little more force than necessary, regarding Pike with cool eyes. Vulcan eyes.

"You know, for my dissertation I was assigned to the Kelvin. Something I admired about your father, he never let his emotions get the best of him. Kept a cool head about him, even in the face of death."

"He was Vulcan. I am not." Spock quips, a wry smirk gracing his bruised features. "And I am sure his death is testament to the foolishness of his behavior." He wipes a hand across his nose, not a particularly dignified action. Looking down he sees green. He's not feeling all too dignified anyway.

"That all depends on your definition of foolish. You're here, aren't you?" Pike raises a brow as he snorts, swiping up the bottle of beer that's slammed down in front of him. "He wasn't a typical Vulcan. He didn't go around denying what he was, hiding his emotions away. He never let them get the best of him sure, but he felt them alright. Wasn't always logical either. He had instinct, he knew when to leap without looking – which is something the Federation has lost, in my opinion."

Spock takes a swig from the bottle, watching the older man as he does so. "Why are you here?" he questions, leaning forwards a little. "If I wished for a lecture about my history, I could simply go to a museum."

"Because I looked up your file while you were drooling on the floor. Your aptitude tests are off the charts, even for a Vulcan. I don't think I've ever met anyone who can solve equations as quick as you."

"Yes. I assume that would be interesting to you, considering my... disadvantage." Spock replies dryly.

His attention is grabbed, and he tilts his head to survey Spock carefully. "You like being the only genius-level repeat offender in the mid west? Hell, in the whole damn world?"

"Maybe I love it." He adds a grim smile, just to show this Captain that he's not a Vulcan. He isn't his father, and he's beyond tired of people making that comparison. Whatever job he's come to offer him, whatever Council member or Federation Admiral sent him here to bribe him into joining their offices, he doesn't want to hear it.

"So you're Human today." Pike concludes, still eyeing him with that wary look, like he's going to explode or something equally as dramatic. This, Spock supposes, is not an entirely illogical idea. He had after all been sprawled out on a table moments ago, and despite the fact he looks Vulcan, he clearly is not. He noted the surprise on Nyota's face when he smirked at her. People just don't expect Vulcans to go around smiling at people.

But like Pike said, he's not Vulcan.

"You're a child of two worlds," the man continues. "you think you're happy to just pick one? That it'll be enough? Vulcan runs in your blood too. You can't just turn your back on one side of yourself."

"I believe I already have, Captain Pike." His tone is quiet, concise, polite. He does not allow his irritation to show. This merely pleases Pike more, who leans back with a satisfied smile.

"You know you're not supposed to be like this. You try and deny that you're Vulcan today but what about tomorrow? Are you going to go home and meditate on it, try out being something else next week? Deep down you know you're made for something better than this." He waves an arm around the bar, his eyes never once leaving Spock. Who says nothing. So he continues, "enlist in Starfleet."

He doesn't even try to stop his laughter, shaking his head with the hilarity of his statement. Starfleet? Vulcans do not join Starfleet, and as Pike has managed to point out, he is unable to escape the fact that he is so clearly his fathers son. Sarek would be appalled for his son to even consider it as an option. "How _illogical._"

But Pike, it seems, is not that easily put off. "It's better than wasting your talents here. Think about it. You'll be the only Vulcan Starfleet has, we could use someone like you. You can be an officer in four years, have your own ship in eight. You know about the Federation, how it important it is – to Earth and Vulcan. We can _help_ you, help you find a balance."

Fixing him with the best impassive stare he can muster, Spock shrugs. "Is there anything else, Captain Pike? Or are we done?"

He stays silent for a moment, still keeping his gaze like he's going to be able to crack Spock that easily. When he finally sees the sheer impossibility of this task, he shakes his head. "I'm done." he says, getting to his feet and throwing down a handful of credits to pay for his drinks. It's a kind gesture that he assumes the Captain believes may garner some trust and understanding between them. It does not. "Riverside shipyard. Shuttle for new recruits leaves at oh eight hundred." The only reaction he gives is to lift the bottle he's drinking from in a farewell.

Just as he's about to walk away, he hesitates and turns back. "Your father managed to save eight hundred lives, including your mothers – and yours. He should have been first out of that ship, but he stayed, he did the right thing. Him and George Kirk were heroes." There is a long silence in which he can only hear the rushing of his own blood. "I _dare_ you to do better."

Pike is long gone before Spock is able to move from his seat.

***

When Amanda Grayson wakes, she can't help but feel something is different. There is a shift, something inside of her that feels unfamiliar yet _right_. Still she can't place the sensation, and as soon as the sun is up she walks about the house checking that everything is in place. Her books are exactly where she left them the night before, right down to the folded tip of the page she had been studying from. She pushes open the door to Spock's room and sees that his bed is neat and unslept in – as usual. For a moment she wonders if something has happened to him, but there are no messages from the hospital or police on the machine.

It is only when she walks into the kitchen and sees a frame on the table that she realizes. Picking up the holo of Sarek holding a small, perfectly formed child in his arms, she hugs it to her chest and realizes that Spock has gone.

She doesn't need the call from Captain Pike for her to know where he's gone.

***

When Spock slides his bike to a stop outside the boundaries of Riverside Shipyard, he has no intention of going inside. He tells himself that Pike simply sees him as some kind of asset, plays over the conversation in his mind to prove his hypothesis correct. His father worked closely with Starfleet this is true, but only because it was logical. He wouldn't want his son joining them. If anything, the many memories his mother has shared with him simply proves that the man was Vulcan through and through. The only path he would want for his son is the Vulcan Science Academy, to dedicate his life to the same path as he had.

But as he looks up at the slowly forming Enterprise – the name is clear, printed in bold black letters on the bare hull – something stirs inside him. Some little part of his mind reminds him that if his father had truly believed this, he would still be alive. Spock wants to, more than anything, to say that Pike is wrong. Yet he cannot fault his logic, no matter how hard he tries. A Vulcan Ambassador should have left; he should not have stayed behind with the Acting-Captain and embark on what he knew to be a suicide mission, especially when the man in question had specifically ordered him to leave with his wife and child.

If Sarek had been entirely logical, he would still be here.

The sky has lightened considerably, and Spock realizes he's been standing here, looking up at the Enterprise for over an hour. The lights illuminating the ship flicker in and out, as even now the technicians work hard to give it a more solid shape, to fill out the bones. His eyes drink in every inch, every single bolt and screw, and his feet ache to walk along the corridors while his fingers itch to touch the consoles it will soon hold. Something slides into place within him, and against his better judgement he slips back onto the bike and rides all the way down to the waiting shuttles.

"Nice ride man." someone calls behind him. He doesn't bother to look around, merely tosses the keys over his shoulder as soon as the engines dies and hops off.

"It is of no use to me now." And it isn't. Pike is standing in front of the shuttle door, his arms crossed over his chest and wearing a smile of victory. Sliding up next to him, Spock allows the corners of his lips to curve into a smile.

"Four years?" he repeats, taking his first step into the cool, metallic air. There are so many people, eager faces in which he can see the stars reflected in their eyes. He imagines he looks the same. "I can do it in three."

If Pike has a reply, he doesn't hear it, already passing through the rows of people to find a seat. He gives the men from the previous night a salute and deftly ducks under the beam and into a vacant spot. It's only when he's belting himself in that he realizes there is an all too familiar face across from him.

Nyota is taking great lengths not to meet his eye, looking everywhere except where he knows she wants to. From here, he can tell that her heart rate has elevated considerably, and he smiles over at her only to be rewarded with a sharp intake of breath on her part.

"I believe I owe you a drink." he comments casually in Vulcan, and from the smile that graces her lips he knows she understands him. He picked well last night. She really is quite fascinating.

"You need a doctor."

"I told you people. I don't need a doctor, damn it I am a doctor!"

The entire row whip their heads round to the bathroom, where a woman is leading an irate man out. "You need to take a seat." She tugs hard on his arm, trying to guide him over to the only other empty seat on the shuttle. The seat next to him. Spock looks from the man, to the seat, then back to the man.

"I had a seat, in the bathroom where there are no windows." He manages to free his arm from her grasp, whipping round to face her with a furrowed brow. "I suffer from aviophobia. It means a fear of dying in something that flies." Spock gives the empty seat another glance. This is going to be a fascinating journey.

"For your own safety," the woman replies firmly. "Sit down or else I'll make you sit down."

There is a moments hesitation before he concedes and drops into the spot with a particularly vicious glare at the departing woman's back. "Fine." he says in what can only be described as a growl, pushing the buckles of his seatbelt together roughly. As the voice of Captain Pike sounds over the intercom, he leans over and Spock can smell whiskey on his breath. "I may throw up on you."

Spock gives the man a curious tilt of his head. "The likelihood of us suffering from a cataclysmic accident that will render us fatally injured is less than two point eight three percent." His brow goes up. "I believe these shuttles are quite safe."

"Don't raise your eyebrow at me, you damn hob-goblin." the man mutters, giving his ears a narrow look. "One tiny crack in the hull and our blood boils in thirteen seconds. A solar flare might crop up, cook us in our seats. And wait 'til you're sitting pretty with a case of Andorian shingles." he pauses long enough in his phobic rant to unscrew the flask he pulls from his pocket. "See if you're still so relaxed when your eyeballs bleed! Space is disease and danger wrapped in darkness and silence."

"I trust you are aware that Starfleet operates in space."

"Yeah, well. I got nowhere else to go. The wife took the whole damn planet in the divorce. All I've got left are my bones." He raises the flask to his lips and takes a hearty swig, before noticing Spock watching him. "Thought Vulcans didn't drink." he questions, passing it over.

"Then it may come as some comfort to you that I am half human." Spock replies, taking a sip. It's extremely strong, even on his tongue. He finds himself warming to this doctor.

"Well it doesn't."

He allows a snort of laughter to escape him. "Spock." he offers in way of a name, passing the flask back to him.

"McCoy." the doctor replies, hand gripping his knee tightly as the shuttle begins to rise. "Leonard McCoy."

As he risks another glance over at Nyota, he catches her watching their exchange closely. Her cheeks flush and she averts her eyes. But he knows that she was watching him. "This will be fascinating."


End file.
